Ballad of MacDonald

2/25/03

As MacDonald stepped onto the field that brisk and chilly day

A hurtle lay before his path, an army in the way

His comrades, quick to draw their swords, assessed their enemies

And the only sounds were that of kilts flapping in the breeze

Suddenly the air grew still, swords gleaming in the sun

When all at once, a man sprang fourth and the ranks all came undone

Men of the clans and of the crown into the battle fray

As bagpipes sang their mournful song and drums battered away

Suddenly, the screams of pride turned into screams of pain

And MacDonald’s thoughts turned quickly back to the day his life was slain

This enemy he’d seen before, and his thoughts with rage were filled

As the flames, that night, piled higher, and his wife and son were killed

That’s why MacDonald joined the cause, to avenge his family’s death

Now in his rage, began to scream, the word "Murderers" on his breath

He lunged forward, his sword outstretched, blood from his wounds did flow

But cut and scrapes, they mattered not, as MacDonald slew his foe

Four men were sent into the sky by MacDonald’s shining blade

But when he came upon the fifth, determination swayed

The man swung first, MacDonald dodged, as the steel cut through the air

Then MacDonald’s strike was thwarted, and he winced in the sun’s glare

The man of crown’s sword pierced his flesh, sent MacDonald to his knees

And darkness slowly fell upon the fallen hero’s pleas

He prayed forgiveness for the lives that he’d taken away

But he also wept for the lives he just couldn’t avenge that day

MacDonald’s gaze met with his foe’s, fear gleaming in his eyes

He said, "You may have stopped my heart, but my soul will never die"

And with these words the sword was drawn, and he fell upon the grass

As the hero lay, the breeze picked up, and he was still, silent at last

Throughout the years MacDonald lived in the hearts of many men

But over time his memory died along with all his friends

And his quest that failed along with him upon that Scottish plain

Is not even a memory, but a song sung by the rain